Taylor Jones, 19, is a rapper who lives in London and has recently found fame in Belgium

It was late last summer, just after I stepped off the stage at Bobbejaanland, that it really hit me. I'd been performing in the theme park, I went for a walk around after the show… and I was being mobbed by fans – so much so that the organisers gave me security. It seemed surreal, especially because a few days earlier I'd been in London, where nobody gives you a second glance.

But this isn't something that I fell into – I've always dreamed of it. I sat in my bedroom in Swindon, where I grew up, singing, practising, working hard to make it happen.

The rapping part was an accident. I had a bad cold one day and couldn't hit the notes, so I talked instead. I knew it sounded good. I could hear it.

So I tried to break into the UK music scene, but there is a lot of competition. I was just 16, and every disappointment knocked my confidence – three years is a long time when you're not making money. I made some headway, met a producer and signed up with a booking agent. I even had a single, Fallen Out, which made it to number two in the Official UK Urban Charts about two years ago, but after a year the hype died down.

I wasn't going to give up that easily, so I made a plan. I thought, where can I go where there's nobody quite like me, a young British white rapper? It wasn't random – I did my research. And it worked. I signed a management deal in Belgium, and got some sponsorship and label support. It's all been pretty recent.

The weird thing is, I've only been out to Belgium three times. The first was to meet the team, and by the second trip I'd already been on TV and premiered on radio, so I was starting to be pretty well known. I played to a crowd of 42,000 over two days in the biggest arena in Belgium. The third time I went was for the Ostend Big Live festival last year, which was amazing – girls were holding up signs saying, "I love Taylor."

I'd be lying if I said I didn't like the attention. I do. It's cool. At the moment, I'm actually considering moving over to Belgium, just to try it for six months.

I did a signing session after the festival, and the fans were going absolutely crazy, climbing over fences to get to me, throwing things, screaming my name. I couldn't help thinking that people back in my home town wouldn't even believe me if I told them. I probably wouldn't mention it, though. I'd rather just be me, Taylor. That's the benefit of being famous somewhere else. You get to come back down to earth.

Mary-Jess Leaverland: 'People recognise me in Jiangsu province, where the show was aired.' Photograph: David Yeo for the Guardian David Yeo/Guardian

For a 12-year-old, I was pretty focused. I knew I wanted to be a professional classical singer – that had been a given for as long as I could remember. But I also knew that I needed a back-up, so I chose Mandarin as one of my GCSEs. It seemed like a good contingency plan. I didn't realise that decision would put me in front of 70m television viewers a few years later.

After school, I started a course in classical music and Mandarin at Sheffield university, and the second year, in 2009, took me to Nanjing university, near Shanghai. One day I was keeping a fellow student company – he was at some TV studios filming a game show – and I got bored waiting for him. I wandered about, stumbling on a studio where what looked like a talent show was going on. I asked the producer if I could be in it – life throws opportunities at you, and sometimes you just have to take them.

The show, Min Xing Chang Fan Tian (I Want To Sing To The Stars), is a Chinese version of The X Factor. They called me back a couple of weeks later. I sang Time To Say Goodbye, and sailed through the heats, ending up in the finals. You have to sing every day for two and a half weeks, so you're live on TV every night. The stylist always wanted to curl my hair and make me look whiter, because they were fascinated by my pale skin. And then I won. I thought they'd want a Chinese winner, but they voted for me. It was unreal.

I came back to the UK at the end of that year, but I can never stay away from China for long – I love it there. People recognise me in Jiangsu province, where the show was aired. You're always going to get looks in China, because being western is a novelty, especially in rural areas, but for me it was more than that. I got followed in a supermarket once. I just put down my basket and ran, though – I didn't hang around.

I would live in China again, but my boyfriend is a vegetarian and has a difficult time of it there. At the moment, we're moving in together in Warwickshire. I'd really like to break through over here in the same way. I've got an album out, called Shine, and I'm going to be Aled Jones's special guest for two dates of his cathedral tour. I'm really excited about that. I want my experience in China to have been just the start.

In London 44-year-old Rita Campbell is a session singer. In Russia and Siberia she's a headline act

Rita Campbell: 'I remember arriving in Kazakhstan for the first time, getting in a cab and hearing my song on the radio.' Photograph: David Yeo for the Guardian David Yeo/Guardian

I've been a session singer since I was 16. I've made TV appearances and toured with well-known artists and bands such as D:Ream and the Brand New Heavies, but always as a backing vocalist. It wasn't until I was asked to sing lead vocals on dance tracks by the Hed Kandi label in the late 1990s that I began to get a taste of fame. My breakthrough was called Runaway Love, and it was a big hit in Russia, Kazakhstan and Latvia, where the club scene is huge. I remember arriving in Kazakhstan for the first time, getting in a cab and hearing my song on the radio. I just said, "Oh, wow, that's me!"

I guess when I started out I did have an ambition to be famous and one day be up there at the Brit Awards. But by then I had realised it wasn't going to happen for me and I was quite happy being in the background. So when this popularity in Russia began, it took me by surprise. Every time I step off the plane in Siberia, I make sure I have my "diva coat" ready. It's a leopard print, and I wouldn't be seen dead in it in Waitrose, but people expect you to look the part. I'm prepared now – I was caught out the first few times looking tired and jetlagged.

It's surreal when I arrive – like stepping off the plane on another planet. I've been greeted with bouquets, upgraded when airline staff recognise me, and I've signed everything from plaster casts to arms, legs and even a few pairs of boobs.

I've got some great fans, but there will always be a few "very enthusiastic" ones who get a little carried away. Luckily, my boyfriend is in the industry and tours all over the world, too, so we're understanding of each other's work.

It's all very different from my life here. In the UK, I'm a songwriter and I'm always busy with touring, vocal sessions and coaching – I work on The X Factor and Britain's Got Talent, as well as on TV and radio commercials. I'm in my studio at home a lot, so I don't bother with the makeup and false lashes I wear in Russia. I just put on comfy clothes and Uggs. I like being at home, I like cooking. It's a great life, and I've got a great career – but I'm a voice, not a face, over here.

I like the balance, so I'd never consider moving to one of the places where I'm famous. I get to travel around the world and get treated like royalty, but then I can return to normality when I get home. And the weather is a factor, too. I seem to have success in freezing cold countries and I like heat – so relocating to Siberia is not really on my agenda.

Izzy Gunnars, 32, is an aspiring actor in London, but in Iceland she's a popular TV presenter, actor and singer

Izzy Gunnars: 'When I get off the plane from Reykjavik, I love the anonymity of London.' Photograph: David Yeo for the Guardian David Yeo/Guardian

It's quite a strange experience, walking through an airport and seeing photos of yourself on the front cover of gossip magazines with the headline Leaving For London. And then, when I get off the plane in London, I'm totally anonymous.

My parents are Icelandic, and I've lived in Los Angeles, London and Reykjavik. I first came to London for drama school, and loved it, but about a year after I finished my course I headed back to Iceland and got a part in my first feature film, Eleven Men Out. After appearing in a couple of independent plays, I was hired at the national theatre. That led to working for the national TV channel, first on a kids' show and then as a presenter. The first CD I sang on was music from the show, but after that I made an album of my own.

Being famous in Iceland is different from over here. Everyone knows someone who knows someone – it's like high school. If you get "papped", you'll know the papper, or they'll know your mum, or your aunt, so they're always polite – they would never harass you. Most people's phone numbers are listed, too, so I used to get calls from fans sometimes. One was a nine-year-old boy who sang down the phone to me.

When I get off the plane from Reykjavik, I love the anonymity of London. During the time I was presenting the kids' TV show, a woman came up to me in a bar and told me I was a bad example for having a glass of wine. Over here, I could have a whole bottle and nobody would bat an eyelid. I quite like that.

I did my first British film last autumn – a thriller called Four Walls. Everyone in Iceland's been asking me when it's out, and I have to say I don't know – it might just be shown at festivals. They don't understand it. If a film is made in Iceland, everyone knows, and then it's at the cinema. It's a much bigger industry here. It's a new challenge, and I like it.